


Obsidian, Smoothed into Knots

by Snegurochka



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-04
Updated: 2009-06-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:56:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snegurochka/pseuds/Snegurochka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's a <i>mission</i>, Dad!" said Al. "You've always told me that an Auror has to be prepared to play any part, haven't you?" He glanced at Draco, a smirk dancing at his lips. "So I play whore to the old man for twenty minutes. If it means a break in this case, you've got to admit it's worth it."</p><p>8,300 words. NC-17. Lucius/Albus Severus. Implied Draco/Albus Severus. Non-con. Forced voyeurism. Albus is 19. Written for nextgendarkfest. June 2009.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obsidian, Smoothed into Knots

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta team: melusinahp, entrenous88, marguerite_26, and florahart.

Draco's palms itched.

They felt stiff, caked in paste, even though he could see no residue between his fingers or dripping down the wall. The spell must be new, one of his father's many inventions. No one could say that Lucius Malfoy hadn't been productive in retirement, at least.

Draco nearly laughed at that.

Instead, the tremour of emotion masquerading as amusement – his brain's method of dealing with the trauma, he figured – manifested itself as tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. Wonderful. If he couldn't _laugh_ – and he couldn't, Christ, not in a situation like this – then it seemed he had to cry.

He inhaled two deep lungfuls of air and closed his eyes. His palms still itched where they were affixed to the magicked glass wall in front of him, but at least with his eyes closed, he could pretend he wasn't able to see his father's bedroom on the other side.

He could pretend he wasn't able to see Al lying on his back, naked and trembling, his face a mask of terrified bravado.

***

"No."

"Oh, come on."

"_No_."

"Dad. You're being daft. There's no one else."

"There's got to be someone."

"There _isn't_. Come on. You know I can do it."

"I know you have an uncanny ability to swagger around here pretending to be an Auror without actually having earned the badge. I've no idea how you'd act in the field."

Albus sputtered, jumping off the edge of Potter's desk. "Pretending, yeah? That raid on Applebaum's old Dark Arts stores – guess that was just a fluke."

Potter grimaced.

"Or taking down you _and_ Uncle Ron with one hand tied behind my back that time!" Albus folded his arms over his chest and lifted his chin in triumph. "_Literally_."

Potter pushed his thumb and forefinger up under his glasses, rubbing his eyes. "That was a training exercise, and we were barely armed," he muttered.

"Potter," Draco sighed at last, kicking one boot up on the coffee table in Shacklebolt's office, "and _other_ Potter." He let his eyes linger over Albus a moment too long. _Al_, he'd told Draco to call him, that one night over drinks. He dragged his eyes away and cleared his throat. "I've no time to sit around arguing with you. We've got to move quickly."

"And I hate to admit it, Harry," Shacklebolt chimed in, scratching at his chin, "but the kid might have a point." He forestalled Potter's inevitable protests by speaking louder. "Morten is up north with Bialin's crew on the troll assignment," he began, checking off his fingers, "Anton's out with a Wheeze till at least the 24th, Hedge and Smyth are on probation till they learn to bloody well behave like professional fucking Aurors, Christ–" he paused to shake his head, scowling – "and Mimi, obviously, hasn't got the right parts under her skirt for this one." He folded his arms over his chest, nodding at Al. "That leaves Albus."

Smirking victoriously, Al spread his hands. "And I've got _all_ the right parts."

"Christ." Potter pinched the bridge of his nose. "So, just because everyone in the bloody Wizarding world knows that Malfoy'll pick up any pretty bloke under twenty-five–"

Draco rolled his eyes at this, making a twirling gesture with his hand in the air in front of him.

"–I've got to put my son up for grabs like a piece of meat."

"It's a _mission_, Dad!" Al pressed. "You've always told me that an Auror has to be prepared to play any part, haven't you?" He glanced at Draco, a smirk dancing at his lips. "So I play whore to the old man for twenty minutes. If it means a break in this case, you've got to admit it's worth it."

_Old man_. The little brat.

***

Draco's eyes burned.

A stunning total of _three_ potential counter-jinxes had flittered across his mind after his father had shoved him through to the antechamber, affixing first his feet and then his hands to the wall, just above shoulder height, each more useless than the one before. His fourth thought was that he could really use a few bloody Aurors and their bags of tricks right about now.

Oh, the irony.

"Father," he said quietly, his voice shaking with anger as the magical bonds held him in place, "_what is this_?"

When he was younger, just a child, he had idolised his father. During the war, he had sworn to honour him at any price, nearly dying – and killing – for it. Ever since then, things had changed. He had been quick in adulthood to dismiss Lucius – and that was how he thought of him now, as a given name belonging to someone he used to know, not the father he had once praised so highly. Just a washed up former Death Eater, he'd thought. A minion of the unreformed, those more dangerous than he. A buffoon of the new Wizarding aristocracy.

Draco couldn't dismiss him any longer.

"Don't ask stupid questions, Draco," spat Lucius. "First the divorce. Then the parade of men. Now you're bending over so obediently for the Ministry, not to mention taking up with _catamites_," he hissed, stepping directly behind Draco and breathing across his neck. "Teenage whores grubbing for your money."

"They're not _teenag_–" Draco began, exasperated, but Lucius cut him off.

"And now playing Auror with the Potters, I see. Tell me, just how many Potter cocks _are_ you sucking?" His slow enunciation of the crude words made Draco shiver. "You embarrass me, you humiliate my grandson, _and_ you insult your mother's memory," he snarled.

"Father, please," muttered Draco, looking away.

"I've arranged for some entertainment for you this evening," Lucius continued, his voice lightening with amusement.

His chest heavy with dread, Draco gazed at the floor.

With a single, softly-spoken word from Lucius, the dark wood panelling of the wall in front of Draco had melted away, leaving a plate of glass. His hands remained affixed to it.

"Please, don't be afraid to enjoy yourself. I know how you've been coveting the boy," said Lucius with a low laugh, heading for the door. He paused. "All of Wizarding London knows it," he hissed.

As Draco gazed into the room beyond, he realised something with a sickening twist of his stomach: he could see out, but no one on the other side could see in. If they could, there would be a great deal more shouting and waving at this point, Draco was certain. Or, at the very least, a great deal more apologetic embarrassment. There was neither.

The adjoining room was his parents' ornately decorated bedroom, inhabited solely by Lucius for the past five years. Draco hadn't seen it since he was a child. Rich tapestries and curtains adorned the walls and windows; a fire burned brightly in the hearth; several handsome pieces of carved furniture took up select spots around the room; and in Draco's direct line of vision stood a bed fit for royalty. The curtains had been pushed aside, and a slow, graduating panic rolled through Draco as he clutched at the glass, his palms prickling and his mouth falling open in horror.

Al, already naked and spread out on Lucius's bed like a sacrifice, blinked up at the ceiling in a drugged haze.

***

"Amusing as the pair of you are regarding my personal life," said Draco, shooting both Potter and Al a withering look, "you've got to admit that Shacklebolt's plan makes sense." He trained his eyes on Potter. "Macnair's men have been terrorising my shop _and_ my personal life for months now, and the Ministry can't seem to get it together enough to make an actual arrest."

Shacklebolt sighed. "There's no proof it's Macnair, Malfoy."

"And maybe it's not our problem if you've got old Death Eaters on your back," added Potter. "Not like you don't deserve them."

"_Dad_," said Al disapprovingly. Draco glanced at him, letting his eyes linger once more. Al didn't meet his gaze, but as if aware of it, a brush of colour rose on his cheeks.

"Maybe I do," Draco allowed, turning to glare at Potter, "but I also sell Veritaserum _and_ Wolfsbane to the Ministry at a lower cost than you'll find anywhere, as your _Minister _here well knows – save that swill from Bulgaria that'd have both your cornered assassins and your werewolves heaving bits of their stomach into your hands, Potter. So I suggest you think twice about _not_ getting these blokes the fuck off my back and away from my shop."

"Christ," muttered Potter, shaking his head. "What about your father?" There was a new light of hope in his eyes. _Honestly_. Did he expect the boy to be an Auror who never actually went on missions? "Surely a sack of coins from him would send Macnair packing for awhile," he said.

Draco stared at him for a moment before dropping his eyes. "My father," he repeatedly softly before grimacing. "You mean the one who is just bursting with pride that I'm – what's the word? Oh yes – _whoring_ myself to the Ministry, when I could be brewing potions for him and his cronies to keep their dicks up and their women barely conscious? Certainly." He clenched his jaw and kicked his feet up on the coffee table again, glowering at Potter. "I'll just ask him if he's got a free moment to intervene on my behalf, shall I?"

"But pretending to lure my son to whatever perverted sex lair you've got in your flat is so much better?"

"Sex lair?" Draco glared at him before turning to Al, his expression melting into a smirk. He let his gaze trail slowly up Al's body. "What do you think, young Mr Potter?"

Al laughed. "Sure, old man. Think you can handle me?"

Draco watched with amusement as Potter blinked between the two of them, horrified. Al was dangerously flirtatious with nearly everyone he met; Draco had known him long enough to have learned that much. But still, watching Potter gape at them, mouth working like a fish, was too delicious not to fan the flames.

"Your _mission_," Shacklebolt reminded them both, "is to be seen leaving the Ministry ball together Friday night and entering Malfoy's flat together. Your mission," he repeated, his voice firm, "at least while on the Ministry's payroll, would include _nothing_ more than that. Is that clear?"

Draco shot Al a sly glance. "Another time, then. When my dates _aren't_ being threatened by bitter old Death Eaters," he added, frowning.

Al grinned and gave him a wink, hiding it behind the hand that ran through his hair.

Potter raised a shaking finger to point at Al. "If we do this, you do not let him put _one hand_ on you, do you hear me? You leave the ball, act whatever part you need to, and we'll follow to his flat. Chances are, Macnair's men will already be waiting for you, ready to–"

"Put the screws to Malfoy's latest toy boy, I _know_, Dad." Al scrubbed at his face. "I _am_ pretty much a trained Auror now. I can handle them."

"Exams aren't for six months," grumbled Potter. "You've got no clue what it can be like out there, all the things that could go wrong. You've–"

Shacklebolt sighed. "All right, all of you: shut your mouths." He sounded weary. "The Ministry considers it a priority to capture these men not only for ruffling Mr Malfoy's dear little shop and scaring off his boys–" he barely contained a roll of his eyes – "but because they are, as you say, old Death Eaters up to no good. Albus, you're on the case." He held his hand up against Potter's renewed burst of objections. "Full briefing in the conference room in one hour," he said in a tone that permitted no dissent.

***

Draco's head ached.

Al's wrists were affixed to the headboard with an elegant sheaf of silk, the end of each tie trailing delicately over the veins. The bonds looked light enough to conquer, but the way Al was straining at them indicated their underlying strength. He could have been curled up on his side, closing in on himself to avert Lucius's gaze as he entered the room and prowled around the bed, but instead, Al lay flat on his back, his bent knees the only indication that he was trying to cover himself even a little bit.

His expression was furious now, whatever potion he'd been given – and Draco had more than a few ideas, his stomach turning over at the thought of each one – having worn off. Expletives poured from Al's mouth.

"How did I get here?" he said at last, his voice low as he wore himself out from his tirade.

Lucius quirked a brow at that, as his fingers worked to unclasp the cloak from around his shoulders. "Don't tell me you don't recall?"

"You drugged me," accused Al, tugging at his bonds again. "You– did something to me. I don't– I would _never_ have come here with you on my own."

"No?" Lucius removed the cloak methodically and folded it over a chair before turning back to Al as he unclasped first one cufflink, then the other. "You seemed quite amenable to my proposal at the ball."

"I don't even remember talking to you! It was Draco, and I came to him like I was supposed to, and–"

Draco winced. Christ. The boy was pretty, apparently, but not yet the fastest-thinking Auror on the force, the stress of the situation be damned. Whether he'd be revealing the names of _every_ person involved in the operation, or only the first five that came to mind, had yet to be seen.

"–the next thing I know," Al was still chattering, "I'm starkers in Malfoy fucking Manor with _you_, and you're–" he paused, breathing hard through his mouth as he watched Lucius unbutton his shirt with ease, shrugging it from his shoulders and folding it neatly over the chair with his cloak. "You're– _no_. What are you doing?" His voice dropped to a whisper.

Draco fell forward a few inches to knock his forehead against the wall with a quiet _thud_, his eyes closing. "Fuck," he whispered. A cool trickle of dread spread through his body.

Lucius stood proudly at the foot of the bed, clad only in crisply pressed trousers now. He reached back to free his hair, letting it fall around his shoulders in a white sheet. Draco knew exactly what he used to be capable of, back during the war, and now, there was no indication that he'd changed. He'd thought his father defanged since then, retreating back into shady business dealings with other men from the old guard who had avoided Azkaban. But now, there was _every_ indication that he'd simply been biding his time, waiting to exact the revenge on a Potter that he was denied twenty-five years ago.

Waiting to punish the son who had so disappointed him twenty-five years ago... and every day since.

The realisation of what was very likely about to happen to Al, right in front of Draco's eyes and fully beyond his control, nearly made him choke.

Lucius's maddeningly calm voice floated over him again. "What am I doing? Now, Albus. Don't tell me your father never had the birds and the bees talk with you?" His smile faded as a hard look crossed his face. "Well, no matter. I imagine this won't be anything like that talk at all, even if he had." He slid his belt free and began unfastening his trousers.

"No," said Al, shaking his head back and forth. "No, fuck you. Let me out of here."

Draco watched with growing alarm as Al muttered a string of wandless spells to free his hands, all as useless as the one before.

"_Libero_!" cried Al as a last resort. "_Libero_, fucking fuck. _Libero_!"

_Try Summoning a lick of fire to sear the silk_, Draco instructed in his head, his mouth twisted in a grimace. _Try shrinking your hands_.

But Al couldn't hear him, and nothing he did try worked. Lucius only watched, amused, from the end of the bed while he finished undressing, pushing down his trousers and pants and standing naked before Al.

The words finally died in Al's throat as he stared as his assailant. His knees inched further up to his chest as if to shield himself, but then he seemed to think better of that. His gaze flickered down and he flushed as he seemed to realise his movements had only put his arse on further display. He flattened himself out on his back once more.

"Oh no, don't do that. I was just beginning to appreciate the view."

Draco whimpered, closing his eyes as Lucius's prick swelled. He couldn't watch this, listen to this, but nor could he leave. In a small corner of his mind, a corner that hammered at the rest of his consciousness with fists of steel, he was sixteen again and powerless on his knees before his father and the Dark Lord.

_Coward_, that sixteen-year-old boy whispered to him, and Draco squeezed his eyes shut tighter in an attempt to block it out.

***

As the other Aurors participating in the mission left the conference room after Shacklebolt's briefing, Al lingered behind, even waving off his father with a promise to meet for tea later that afternoon. He glanced up at Draco from under his dark fringe once they were alone, trying not to grin. "So, Mr Potions Master," he teased, "looks like we're going to be a team."

Draco pretended to look put out. "Such a bother," he sighed. "I suppose I'll be expected to save your miserable arse at some point during this operation." He arched a brow.

Al didn't miss a beat. "Thinking about my arse, are you?"

Damn the brat. Draco took a deep breath, pushing the image away in an effort to keep a humiliating flush from staining his face. It was embarrassing enough to be caught up in this flirtation with a _nineteen-year-old_ over the past few months of crossing paths at the Ministry. He'd had other lovers who had admittedly been on the young side, but this was Potter's _son_, for God's sake. Draco didn't need to be caught with all his cards on the table after one bawdy comment from the lad. He decided to say nothing, only rolling his eyes and heading for the door.

It worked. Almost running to catch him up, Al grasped Draco's arm and gently turned him. "Sorry." He breathed a laugh, scrubbing his hands over his face. "That was rude. I just–"

Draco tilted his head to the side, enjoying the way Al's dark lashes swept over cheeks pink with uncertainty. "We're working together now, Mr Potter," he said quietly. "Neither of us needs to get written up on misconduct charges at the workplace, I should think."

Al's eyes widened as he caught Draco's insinuation. "It's Al, _Mr Malfoy_," he said with a grin. "Please. We've already shared our hopes and dreams over that awful brandy; we must at least be on a first-name basis by now, aren't we?"

Draco pushed back the image of Al tipsy and flushed at the Gentleman's Caller that night, begging for a beer as Draco laughed and tried to teach him the finer points of drinking more noble libations. He could still feel the brush of Al's fingers against his own on the stem of the snifter, the way Al's thigh had pressed against his under the table.

"And no, I suppose the workplace isn't a very good place for this conversation," added Al, grinning from ear to ear now.

"Mm," agreed Draco, his gaze falling to the boy's mouth. "Dinner, then, when this blasted assignment is over. I'll show you how to use a salad fork."

Eyes bright with success, Al could barely contain his excitement – although he tried. Draco, for his part, tried not to consider how bloody adorable he was. "You're on!" said Al, biting his lip over a huge grin before bounding out of the conference room and disappearing around a corner.

Draco could have sworn he heard a low whoop of joy in the distance.

***

Draco's chest constricted.

Lucius crawled onto the bed and kneeled before Al, his powerful body on display. His cock jutted out from between his legs, thick and angry, and he smiled as he let one hand fall down to gently stroke it.

"Ah," breathed Lucius, tilting his head back in pleasure. "Oh, I am sorry, my boy," he added after a moment, as if coming to his senses. "Do I embarrass you? I would prefer, of course, that you do the honour yourself–" he gestured to his cock – "but since your hands are so unfortunately bound, I suppose that will be out of the question."

"Untie me, then," said Al suddenly, holding Lucius's gaze. "I'll– touch you. If that's what you want."

_Oh, Al_.

"Will you, now? I wonder. No, I don't think I'll chance it," Lucius concluded, and Draco let out a growl of frustration behind the wall. It hadn't been the smoothest attempt, but at least Al had tried _something_. "I don't think I'll chance you biting it off, either, though I would dearly wish to watch you take me in that pretty mouth of yours."

Al sealed his lips shut, glaring.

Lucius produced a tube of lubricant from the table next to the bed and began massaging it slowly over his fingers. "Messy stuff," he sniffed, glancing up at Al. "This sort of thing–" he gestured vaguely between his cock and Al's naked body – "is always so unfortunately untidy, isn't it?" He sighed. "The price we pay for pleasure. Up."

He smacked Al on the hip and then grasped his legs, folding them and pushing them up to his chest. Al kicked at him but was soon overpowered, being much slighter than Lucius and at a disadvantage without the power of his arms and shoulders to help him.

"You think you'll fight me, do you? Oh, Albus." Lucius sighed again in disapproval. "Don't you understand that this will be so much better for you if you lie still? Perhaps you'll even enjoy yourself; one never knows."

Abruptly, he pushed his index finger into Al's exposed cleft, shoving past Al's barriers to lodge it firmly inside. Al bucked against the intrusion, shouting out and panting.

"Come, now. It's not so bad." Too quickly, Lucius rotated his finger and thrust it in again, then added a second.

The sob of pain and shock that tore from Al's throat nearly broke Draco in two. He clutched at the glass wall, gasping for air himself.

"There, now," said Lucius, his voice silky-smooth once more. "Doesn't that feel nice?"

***

The evening of the ball, Draco dressed carefully. He felt oddly secure in the abilities of the Aurors for once, confident that his shop would soon be free of the lingering stench of Death Eaters and their demands, that the men leaving his flat in the mornings wouldn't have to be subjected to catcalls and death threats.

Of more pressing concern to him was the opportunity to play-act a date with Al, and right under his father's distrusting nose. Oh, Al's involvement hadn't been Draco's goal in seeking Auror assistance; this was all Shacklebolt's plan. But now that it was in place, he couldn't deny that he enjoyed the thought of flirting with Al a bit more, pressing champagne on him and murmuring in his ear while the boy's father and his surveillance team looked on, unable to intervene.

He should have wondered when his own father's house-elf showed up at half-eight to help Draco's elf with the dinner dishes.

He should have asked the right questions.

***

Draco's arms prickled.

The blood had drained steadily down, leaving his elevated hands pale and buzzing.

"You sick fuck," Al whispered, his voice trembling as Lucius loomed over him. "You won't get away with this."

"Hm. Won't I?" A façade of innocence appeared on Lucius's face.

"I've read the history books," muttered Al, still trying to twist away from him. "My father was right to send you to Azkaban. They should have put you back there to rot after the war."

Lucius paused, his fingers stretching Al open as he positioned his cock to slip in between them. "Your father, hm?" he said carefully, his jaw tight.

"Let me guess," spat Al. "Am I just a substitute for my father, so you can do to me whatever you couldn't do to him?"

"Oh, dear boy. I could have done anything I'd wished with him, and at any time." Lucius gave a low, groaning laugh, pressing against Al's entrance again. "But having him like this would not have been nearly the punishment he deserved." At this, he pressed his cock forward and withdrew his fingers in one motion, letting the rim of Al's anus pulse back around him. He closed his eyes briefly and sighed. "Ah, yes. Just as tight as I'd hoped you'd be."

Al cried out, his fingers going white as they clenched into fists and yanked at the bonds around his wrists.

"But really," Lucius continued, his voice light and conversational even as his cock disappeared inch by slow, painful inch into Al's body, "this is hardly about your father. This–" he sank in a little further, ignoring Al's grunts and curses – "would have been too good for him, wouldn't you say? Now come, Albus, must you look so distressed? Put your back into it, there's a dear lad. We've an audience to entertain, after all." Lucius seated himself fully, his balls settling against Al's arse and his hips pushed flush against Al's pale skin.

Al went white.

Draco choked back a strangled sound.

"What?" whispered Al after a pause that stretched out like a windless day. After the initial blind shock of penetration, Al's chest began to heave and his face crumpled in pain. The news of a voyeur seemed an afterthought to his body's trauma. Draco nearly retched as he watched such a proud, gorgeous young man cave under the humiliation of the assault. "What did you say?" added Al, his voice tight.

Lucius only smiled down at him, his fingers pressing more deeply against Al's knees as he ground his hips forward, pushing Al's legs further apart.

Wild-eyed, Al began scanning the room, his head whipping back and forth against the pillow. His stomach muscles clenched as he tried to sit up for a better view into the room's dark corners, which only made him bite down over a choked cry as the pain in his arse must have intensified. Finally he went still, his eyes closed, and his next words tore at Draco's heart. "Who's there?" he choked out.

Lucius rotated his hips again, gently, his eyes locked on Al's face and his lips twisted up in a sneer.

"_Help me_."

Behind the wall, Draco sucked in a sharp breath, his legs beginning to give way. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his palms burning where they were affixed to the wall. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. God, Albus. Not this. I'm so sorry."

***

Hurrying through the Ministry foyer, Draco entered the ball irate and out of breath. He scanned the room quickly before locating Potter and Shacklebolt.

"Fuck. Sorry I'm late," he muttered. "Bloody house-elf tipped an entire pot of ink on my best robe just as I was leaving. I tell you, he'd better be back at the Manor shackling himself to Father's bloody manacles this very _second_, or I swear I'll– Potter? What's the matter with you?"

Potter had gone pale, slowly turning at the sound of Draco's voice and staring at him now, his mouth falling open. He turned to gaze at Shacklebolt, who stood up straighter, his eyes already darting around the room. "You," began Potter, then, "_Al_." His eyes were glued to Draco. "You were– okay. Oh, God. Where–"

"Stay calm, Harry," said Shacklebolt. "You can't raise any alarm in here. Our perpetrators might still be in the room." He grasped Potter's arm and held him still, while Draco glanced between them.

"Where's Al?" he murmured, glancing over his shoulder. He had a brief moment of concern at Potter's tone, wondering if Potter had finally noticed that his son and his childhood nemesis had been spending a bit too much time ensuring their paths crossed at work lately – or worse, that someone at the Gentleman's Caller had tipped Potter off about what had clearly not been a business meeting between them that night. Well, no matter. He was hardly _afraid_ of Potter, and anyway, he'd barely even touched the boy, all flirting aside. He turned back to Potter expectantly.

"Gone," moaned Potter, swallowing hard and wincing as Shacklebolt's grip tightened. "With _you_, we thought."

"Me?" Draco frowned.

"Your collar was higher than usual–" Potter made a vague gesture with his hands, trailing off.

"Potter," scoffed Draco, rolling his eyes, "if there is one thing Malfoys pride ourselves on, it is the fact that we do not resemble any of you other vermin families in the Wizarding world. Short of a crude method like Polyjuice, there is nobody who could look enough like me to–" His voice died.

"What is it?" said Potter, his voice low.

Draco's head began to swim, and he tried to fix his gaze on a point over Potter's shoulder to clear it. _No_. A single, sickening thought slammed through his brain and wouldn't leave. All the other men Draco had been with since the divorce, nearly all harassed and intimidated in some way, but... _No_. It couldn't be _him_. Pressing his lips together, he began to shake his head back and forth. How could Draco have been so blind?

"_What_?" repeated Potter, grabbing him by the collar.

It couldn't be true. If _he_ had somehow grabbed Al – a _Potter_, Christ, and with Weasley blood, too. There were no words for how much hatred still lingered there, no telling what the bloody lunatic might –

He closed his eyes, swaying on the spot. His one thought was that Potter could _not_ know about this. It would be up to Draco to stop it. "There's a place we said we'd meet if we got split up," he lied, trying to steady his voice. "The Gentleman's Caller. It's a... pub. Of sorts."

Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow.

"Come on." Potter didn't ask any further questions. He pushed past Malfoy, Shacklebolt in tow, and charged across the ballroom. Left blinking after them, Draco's mind raced.

When he was sure they were gone, he steeled himself and headed out to the Ministry corridors towards the Floo, a cold chill sweeping up his body. He threw a handful of powder in the grate with trembling hands and choked out, "Malfoy Manor."

It was only as he landed, coughing from the too-hasty journey, that he considered the fact that stealth might have been his best bet.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Draco's wand sailed from his hand before he could get his bearings.

A dark, rich chuckle sounded behind him, and Draco's stomach rolled over. "How fitting, Draco: a signature _Potter_ spell used against you," a wrenchingly familiar voice said, the noble accent dripping with menace. "This will be even more frightfully easy than I'd hoped."

***

Draco's heart broke.

Lucius let out a low chuckle as Al begged the empty room for help. "Do you imagine you'll be rescued?" he asked lightly. "Perhaps by your father, or the Ministry cronies at that ball? I should think they would have shown up by now, don't you?" His muscular thighs tensed in his kneeling position as he began to withdraw from Al for the first time at last, the slow slide of it drawing Draco's gaze despite his admonishments to himself to _close your eyes, God, close your eyes, dammit_. When Lucius was nearly entirely free of Al's body, he paused again, wet his lips, and then slowly pressed forward. Draco watched, horrified, as Al's body took him in again.

"Stop," gasped Al, his face pale and his eyes squeezed closed.

Lucius finished pressing all the way in once more before he paused, tilting his head to the side. "Stop?" he mocked. "Oh, dear. Are you not enjoying yourself, Albus?"

"Fuck," managed Al, his jaw tight. "Fuck you."

Lucius sighed, loosening his grip on Al's bent knees but not allowing Al to let his legs fall to the side or stretch them out. "Well, this won't do. I must admit, I thought you would be well on your way to a delightful, humiliating orgasm by now." Appraising Al with a sad shake of his head, Lucius rolled his hips forward a little bit.

Al winced.

"No? How about here, then?" He did it again, bending his knees a bit more to approach Al from a new angle.

Al mashed his lips together, his face flushed.

"Ah. Better?"

"Fuck you," snarled Al once more, clenching his stomach as if he could shove out the intrusion that way. "Just fucking get it over with."

After another punctuated pause, Lucius's face darkened. He pulled out suddenly and thrust back in hard, his fingernails puncturing the skin of Al's thighs as he held them apart. He did it one more time, viciously pounding into Al's body.

Al grunted out a protest but swallowed over his words, his face crumpling.

"Just fucking get it over with?" Lucius barked. "Like that, you mean? Oh, no, Albus." As quickly as it had come, his rage melted away, leaving a seductive smile in its place. "You are much too delectable for that." He leaned down, brushing his lips over Al's neck. "I intend to enjoy you slowly, and ensure you enjoy _me_ just as well. I told you: our audience expects better of you." He raised himself up to his knees again.

Once again, Al glanced frantically around the room, his eyes as panicked as a frightened animal. "You're lying," he bit out after a moment. "There's no one here."

Lucius glanced up at him from the tube of lubricant he'd been smoothing over his fingers. "No?" He laid the tube down beside him and gently massaged his hands together. "No one to watch you moan, then, when I do this?" He ran a fingertip over Al's half-hard cock, lying restless on his stomach, and Al did his best to jerk away.

"Stop it."

"What if I told you," he continued smoothly, "that my son is watching. Would that interest you? You've met him, I believe." His fingers were there in place, ready, when Al's cock thickened at the words, filling Lucius's fist right before Draco's eyes.

Draco nearly choked on a horrified sob.

"He– _no_," whispered Al, his eyes bright. "He's not." His gaze darted around the room again nonetheless, and Draco swore he could feel the waves of humiliation crashing over Al. "Draco?" he gasped, as Lucius touched him again. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Lucius wrapped his hand around Al's cock, establishing a rough, sweeping rhythm and accentuating it with the slow grind of his hips as his cock continued to press into Al's arse. Al's back arched slightly now, and he pushed up into Lucius's fist despite himself, his cock thick and leaking.

"There, now," soothed Lucius, slowing down to let the full sensations sweep over Al. "You like that, do you, imagining it's my son's hands on you? It's all right, Albus," he murmured, his fingers swirling over Al's cock. "I'm not jealous. You can even pretend I'm him, if you'd rather." A nasty smile overtook Lucius's features. "Pretend it's Draco's prick buried inside you right now, why don't you? I'm sure you've thought of it before. I certainly know _he_ has. In fact – _ah_." He paused to roll his hips again, his face drawn in pleasure. "In fact, I believe he's thinking of it right this minute."

Al couldn't contain the moan that spilled from his lips. With his eyes closed, who knew what the poor boy was imagining? Maybe it _was_ Draco. Maybe that was the only way for him to get through this.

Lucius thrust in again, working his hand over Al's cock in a brutal parody of lovemaking that had nonetheless caused the horror on Al's face to tint with arousal.

Draco stared.

"Stop it," begged Al at last, writhing in his bonds again. "You're nothing like him. What do you care if I – oh, _God_ – enjoy this, you sick, fucking–"

"Need I really explain it to you?" Lucius said with another sigh, as though raping such a dim-witted boy was a terrible inconvenience for him. He slowed his strokes nonetheless, his glistening fingers slipping over Al's cock, while he leaned down to run the tip of his tongue over Al's nipple.

Al gasped, struggling at once to shrink away and arch up towards him.

"Oh, my, what a delightful response," breathed Lucius. "Has no one thought to do that to you before? How unfortunate." He did it again, this time allowing his tongue to linger over Al's skin, twirling it over Al's nipple and then biting down on it.

"_God_," moaned Al, then, "God, stop."

"In fact, has no one thought to do _any_ of this to you? Not even my son, perhaps, despite your deep, dark desires?" He smiled, tossing his head so that his silver hair gleamed down his back. "Don't tell me you've only known the touch of women?" He sighed. "Pity. Such a well put-together young man, it's a shame to keep you hidden from the more, shall we say, _base_ desires of men." His thrusts sped up again. "Only a man could make you fall apart quite like this, though, my boy, wouldn't you agree? Women don't understand how to handle us."

Al was panting now, his chest and neck flushed and his cock an angry red.

"The problem, you see," continued Lucius, "is _discretion_. One must not parade their perverted desires in front of the entire Wizarding world, wouldn't you say? It's something my son does not understand. You, however–" he thrust in slowly – "surely understand why secrecy is necessary. One would not wish to admit to _enjoying_ an act such as this, hm? It would be... unseemly."

"Stop," gasped Al again, but the protest lacked conviction. Despite the horror of the assault, despite the violation, the invasion, the atrocity of it all, Al was hard under Lucius's hand now. His cock stood stiff under Lucius's melting touch, gliding through his fingers red and glistening, the excess lubricant smeared over the dark hair on Al's abdomen.

"Do you feel that, Albus?" murmured Lucius as he pulled out, sinking back into Al's body with a slow, steady thrust. "The way your body has begun to accept me, to welcome me?"

"No," choked Al, squeezing his eyes closed.

"Let yourself feel, dear boy." Lucius twisted his hand on Al's cock in a way that made Al arch up off the bed, his arms spread behind him.

"God. No. Oh, God."

"It's not a crime to enjoy yourself with me," Lucius continued to murmur, his hated, honeyed voice dripping into Draco's consciousness even as it began to wrack spasms from Al's body. "It's not a crime to _ask_ things of me," he added. With that, his hand stilled over Al's cock and his hips ceased their thrusts into his arse.

The entire room went still, leaving Draco to try to cover the sound of his own laboured breathing, suddenly too loud in the small, secret chamber.

Al was panting, his wide eyes locked on Lucius. "What are you– _no_, God. Just, let me–"

"Let you what?" Lucius slid the pad of his thumb down Al's prick, glancing up at him. "Do feel free to beg, Albus."

Clamping his mouth shut, Al shook his head.

Lucius's thumb slid back up, circling slowly over the head of Al's cock. When it was seeped in moisture, he moved it up to Al's nipple and pressed down, coating the hardened nub with pre-come.

Al arched his back involuntarily but still remained silent. His wide eyes and heaving chest nonetheless betrayed the effect Lucius was having.

Draco let out a tiny moan, horrified with himself. _I am not complicit in this_, he told himself, his forehead pressed helplessly to the glass. _I am not_.

"I _said_, Albus," Lucius spoke again, a harder edge to his voice this time, "that you should feel– free– to _beg_." He punctuated the words with light fingers over Al's cock again, too light to give much friction, while his cock slowly withdrew from Al's arse, pausing halfway.

"I won't," insisted Al, but his face was flushed and his hips canted up on their own, seeking Lucius's fist. "God," he sobbed. "Fuck."

"Say _please_ like a nice boy, or I'll think you were raised by wolves." Lucius began pushing back in, Al's arse opening easily now to take him in as Al's eyes fluttered closed. His entire body trembled before them, and neither Lucius nor Draco seemed able to take their eyes off of him.

Hearing Lucius's words and watching Al come unraveled like this had done something to him, and Draco couldn't let himself examine too closely what exactly that was. All he could think was that _it's almost over_, but even that seemed traitorous. He hadn't been able to stop it. He'd watched it happen, helpless. He closed his eyes.

"Please."

The whispered word was nearly too faint to hear. Draco's eyes flew open again to see a look of triumph on Lucius's face.

"Please _what_?" he growled, gripping Al's knees once more and pressing them back, folding him in half as he began to pump hard in and out of Al's arse.

"Fuck. _Please_. Just let me come, all right?" snapped Al, writhing now.

Lucius grasped Al's prick again and stroked, barely getting three strokes in before Al had arched his back and pushed up into Lucius's hand, a moan turning into a choked sob. Lucius lifted his hand away in time and let Al come all over himself, semen spurting over his belly and running down the side of his hip. He tried to curl away from Lucius as his orgasm ebbed, no doubt sensitive and shocked as the horror set in once more, but Lucius wouldn't let him.

"My turn," snapped Lucius, his calm finally bleeding away as he took Al roughly. His prick pistoned in and out of Al's loosened body easily now, an unappealing noise accompanying the slide of lubricant and Al's gasping sobs. It would be agony for Al, Draco knew, to continue to be penetrated so thoroughly after orgasm. That was precisely what Lucius would be counting on. Still Draco couldn't tear his eyes away; the sight of that thick cock using Al so viciously, splitting him open and heaving inside him, held Draco shamefully riveted. "Ah," Lucius groaned at last, jerking his hips and wrenching Al down towards him. He held him in place, the muscles of his thighs and arse tense as he poured himself into Al, his lips parted and his head tilted back.

Draco let out a soft moan of both desire and shame, his glued fingers itching to curl into fists. His heart hammered wildly in his chest, and as he belatedly acknowledged the spent tendrils of his own pleasure seeping through him, he sagged against the glass as far as his fixed feet would let him. He shuddered at the dampness in his trousers, a wave of revulsion passing through him.

When he'd caught his breath, Lucius extricated himself from Al slowly, a soft, squelching noise accompanying the trail of wetness along his spent cock. He glanced down at it with a look of distaste before picking up his wand and waving it over himself to clear the mess. Al's legs had dropped inelegantly to the bed, slack with exhaustion, and semen still stained his stomach and chest. His eyes fluttered closed, dark lashes brushing against cheeks crusted with dried tears.

"Most enjoyable, young sir," said Lucius with a mock bow after rising from the bed. "I do regret that I can't keep you all night, introduce you to the pleasure of being entered a second or even a third time while still filled with my seed from our first delicious copulation." He sighed wistfully as he Summoned a dressing gown, knotting it around his waist. "But for now, there is another matter I must attend to." As if weighed down by his obligations, he waved his wand casually at the wall as Al barely glanced over.

His face shifted from weary with trauma to wide-eyed with shock after Lucius finished his incantation, though, and Draco's stomach sank through the floor.

Al could see him.

His mouth opened and closed several times, but he said nothing, only struggling to sit up despite the continued restrictions of his bonds. He stared at Draco, his cheeks flaming. At last, he dropped his gaze to the bed and his own stained body, swallowing hard.

"No, Al," Draco began, shaking his head back and forth. "Can he hear me?" he asked Lucius. "Can he– Dammit, Father! How could you? How could– Albus, please, he's captured me as well; it's not what you– it's not–"

"Captured?" Lucius strolled over to a luxurious armchair in one corner of the bedroom and fell into it, laughing softly. He crossed one leg over the other, the dressing gown riding up his thigh and billowing open at his chest. He rested his arms on either side of the chair in a pose of amused leisure. "How dramatic, Draco." He turned to Al. "I assure you, Albus, he was perfectly free to come and go as he pleased. I find it fascinating, however, that given that option, he chose to stay–" he paused – "and watch."

Al blinked, raising his head. "You– you're lying," he whispered to Lucius, who only lifted one shoulder.

"See for yourself." He waved his wand at Draco once more, murmuring under his breath.

"You sick bastard," hissed Draco, staring at his hands.

Lucius smiled. "Why don't you try to get free, Draco? Do you not know how to perform a simple _Libero_ without a wand? Tsk. How shameful. And here you've been trying to impress an _Auror_. Well," he added, rolling his eyes, "I suppose your Auror himself isn't terribly adept with such spells either yet, is he? What a pair you make."

"Stop it, Father," muttered Draco. Caving in on himself, he swallowed, then took a deep breath. "_Libero_," he whispered, his voice breaking.

"Hm. A bit louder, perhaps. With more conviction, son, that's it. Don't be shy, now."

Draco steadied himself again, a knot of agony peeling down his body. "_Libero_," said Draco once more, and this time, he lifted his hands from the glass with ease, the magical adhesive giving way. With another word aimed at his feet, he took a step backwards, breathing hard.

Watching from his huddled ball on the bed, Al made a choking sound.

Draco immediately stretched his hand towards Al, murmuring the spell once more. Through the wall, however, it didn't work.

Lucius rolled his eyes. "Oh, so very magnanimous of you, Draco. _Now_ you think to try to untie the boy." He rose from his chair and wandered back to the bed. With a sigh, he freed Al's wrists and stepped back in distaste as Al fell down to the bed like a rag doll, a soft cry escaping his lips.

Finding his feet at last, Draco strode from the antechamber and around to the bedroom, glancing at the wall through which he'd been looking. He turned away again with a shudder.

"Get your whore out of here," spat Lucius, his eyes blazing as he stalked to the door, casting a disdainful look over his shoulder at Al. "His filth is staining my best sheets."

Lucius slammed the door behind him as Al pushed himself up into a sitting position, closing his eyes and wincing at the pain. His cheeks flamed bright red at Lucius's parting words.

"I didn't choose to watch. He bound my– I couldn't–" stammered Draco in a hoarse whisper, standing awkwardly beside the bed. "Here, Christ." He belatedly thought to throw a blanket over Al's shoulders to cover him, glancing away as Al pulled it tight. He folded his hands in a silent prayer over his mouth, his eyes falling shut. "I didn't–"

"Don't," murmured Al, his voice hollow, and Draco fell silent.

What was there to say? _I was too interested in watching you take my father's cock to even think clearly_?

_Whatever your father might have warned you about me, it seems he was right_?

Or –

_I've been a coward my entire life; today is no exception_.

There was nothing left to say. He wanted both to retch and flee, gather Al in his arms and never face him again, obey Lucius's silky voice and pummel the shit out of that smug, hated face.

"We should go," he managed. "Your father–" his throat nearly closed off at the word – "will be frantic."

Al slowly raised his head, huddled under the blanket. Draco forced himself to meet the boy's gaze, trying to convey all that he couldn't say with words. There was no telling if it worked. Al wet his lips, swallowing. "What am I supposed to tell him?" he whispered.

Draco thought about this for a moment. Setting his jaw, he took a deep breath. "When he inevitably demands to know what I did to you, we will simply tell him the truth."

He heard his own voice like a hollow echo in his head, like a ghost of his teenage self screaming and whispering at him at once. Al blinked up at him with bright eyes brimming with devastation.

"I did nothing."

 

-fin-


End file.
